Baby Mine
by Fairly Odd New Yorker
Summary: Constance and Imogen have a baby together, but can they overcome the past and make up for lost time? R&R! FEMSLASH!
1. Baby Mine

**(A/N)**- I'm so sorry! I'm still working on Bruised Not Broken and The Unseen - I just wanted to post this here to get it started and if you all like the sound of it I'll continue this on the side. I can't fight this story. I know I'm taking on a lot, but ... I plan to juggle. Just watch me. ;p ENJOY!

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**- Baby Mine -**

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Constance Hardbroom stared down at the newborn in her arms, her face indifferent and yet her mind was racing and her heart pounded madly at the sight of this brunette baby girl. The infant looked back at her, almost as if she too knew exactly what the witch was so troubled about.

"She's got your eyes," Imogen's voice cut through the silence, sounding more like an accusation than an observation.

"Eyes change color as they age; they don't stay the same from birth," Constance replied quietly as she rocked the baby ever so slightly.

"And your hair."

Constance tore her eyes away for a moment to look up at the blonde, who stood there in her hospital gown, arms folded tightly across her chest.

"She has _Serge's_ hair." Constance corrected.

"His hair isn't that dark."

"Then it's just a coincidence."

"_Is_ it?"

Constance bit the inside of her lip and looked back down at the still unnamed baby, who was steadily drifting off to sleep in the witch's arms.

She carefully rose from her seat and handed the girl back to her mother. The little girl grunted and began to stir, letting out a small cry in protest.

"Yes, it _is_."

Constance Hardbroom exited the room just as Serge Dubois was coming in with flowers. He greeted her as she passed but she did not appear to have noticed him.

Her steps quickened as her tears began to fall, and she disappeared down the hallway and out of Imogen's life …

_ and_ their daughter's ...

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**(A/N)**- Please review!


	2. Years Later

**(A/N)**- I'll be honest I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this ... I mean I have an idea but idk if I want to expand it into something so much bigger ... ahh, we shall see. :P Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed, I really didn't expect this would get much attention at all so it really made me feel like a million bucks. :) Enjoy!

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**- Years Later -**

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Seventh door on the left … seventh door on the left …

Imogen could feel her anticipation rising as she strode down the hallway, glancing in the window of each door she passed for fear that she had somehow miscounted and went to the wrong room.

She readjusted her purse on her shoulder as she walked, heels echoing on the stone floor, heels that she only agreed to wear because whenever she walked she sounded like _her_ …

She shook her head in annoyance, gritting her teeth.

This was not supposed to be a pleasant visit, after all, never mind the circumstances, it had taken her so long to find the slightest trace …

A bell rang, signaling the end of classes, and she heard chairs squeak and knock against the stone floors as students rose from their chairs.

That all-too-familiar voice met her ears, a voice she hadn't heard in years, and her heart did somersaults despite everything …

"Be sure to do your homework, tomorrow we start on invisibility potions!"

Imogen leaned against the wall as she waited for the girls to pass – none of them seemed to notice her presence – didn't surprise her, the school was rather large as it was … as was the class itself. It took a while for all the girls to vacate the room. Imogen found herself not being able to resist a quick peek into the classroom as they filed out, rationalizing it with the possibility that the woman might disappear into thin air as she so often did.

She caught the slightest glimpse of her at the front desk, just a blur really, but it was enough to make her heart flutter with excitement. She bit her lip hard, mentally reminding herself …

The classroom finally emptied, and she stepped into the doorway.

Constance Hardbroom didn't appear to have noticed her as she stood before her desk, crouched over slightly as she sorted her papers into neat piles.

Her hair was cropped – that was the biggest shock to Imogen. It was just a bit above shoulder length, parted neatly straight down the middle of her head. She felt sorry for the loss of her long ebony locks … but perhaps she had a good reason for such a drastic change …

She also wore reading glasses, which Imogen could understand as her own eyesight was beginning to fail, at least when it came to reading, but she was determined not to get a pair just yet. Constance's glasses were horn-rimmed, and Imogen quickly recognized them as the sunglasses she had bought her years ago, refitted to serve as prescription glasses rather than polarized.

She was momentarily touched by Constance's sentimentalism … but then Imogen was brought to her senses as the witch looked up and froze, staring directly at her like a deer caught in headlights.

Hands shaking, she reached up and took her glasses off, folding them neatly and placing them in a hidden pocket on her hip.

"Imogen …" Constance greeted formally, casually, as if she had expected her to come.

Imogen strode up the desk, her eyes never leaving hers. She expected the witch to run, to disappear like she so often did whenever she felt trapped or threatened, but she stood her ground, bracing herself as the non-witch neared her hand raised …

She wanted to do it. She wanted to slap her right across her beautiful face.

But she couldn't.

The witch stood there, eyes squeezed tight and when there was no contact, she cautiously opened them.

Imogen gritted her teeth and smacked her arm instead, not hard enough to seriously hurt her but perhaps hard enough to get a message across. The witch did not react, and Imogen wound up hitting her again, and again and again …

Constance's long sinewy arms wrapped around her in an attempt to pull her close, but Imogen pushed her away, stepping out of arm's reach as she brushed away in annoyance the tears that she involuntarily shed. In her anger she found her voice.

"My daughter is a witch."

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**(A/N)**- Evil cliffhanger! :P Reviews please! :D


	3. Questions and Answers

**(A/N)**- Sorry this took so long! My sculpture project is taking up most of my time and when I'm not working on it I'm worrying about getting it done on time. :P Stupid. Anyway! Here it is! THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed, seriously, it makes my day, keep doing it!

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**- Questions and Answers -**

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_"My daughter is a witch."_

Constance's eyes began to water, and Imogen slapped her again. The witch finally appeared to have felt it, for she jumped slightly at the contact.

"_Our_ daughter is a witch!"

Another slap. She jumped again.

"Are you going to tell me again that she isn't _yours_?"

Constance began to back away but still Imogen slapped her.

"Are you going to explain yourself?"

Slap.

"Or are you just going to run away again?"

Constance caught Imogen's wrist as she went to slap her once more, and Imogen froze, eyes wide as she stared up at the witch, breaths coming in short as she awaited the witch's next move.

"Not here," she said quietly, lips pursed, and she led the younger woman through a door, into the potions store room, not unlike the one at Cackle's, except this was bigger.

She released Imogen and shut the door firmly behind her. It took her a moment to collect herself before she could finally meet the non-witch's eyes once more.

"How did you find me?"

"Amelia tipped me off, said that you last told her you would be teaching elsewhere but you didn't say where. I looked at several schools and couldn't find your name in any of them, but then I found Hilary Hemlock … you know, if you didn't want me to find you-"

"I ran out of names to use," Constance explained with a sigh of indifference, "This is the fifth school I've transferred to since I left Cackle's."

"So you switch schools every year?" Imogen asked incredulously.

"Just about."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Well, it can't be because you're running from me, otherwise you wouldn't have risked using the name I picked when I was a witch … who are you running from then?"

"No one."

"Is it Mistress-"

Constance shushed her immediately, her eyes suddenly panicked, "_Don't_."

Imogen nodded in understanding, knowing exactly how the witch felt about the woman, just the mere mention of her name … her green eyes looked to her cropped hair; she suspected Hecketty might've had something to do with that … but she changed the subject.

"How did we make a child together? Did you … did you cast a spell on her, was she really Serge's at first, or …"

"She was mine all along," Constance replied, offended at the non-witch's assumption.

"So you _knew_?" Imogen asked, her eyes brimming with tears, "How … how did it happen then?"

"It's rare, but it's not impossible … a misfired spell, that's all …"

"_That's all_." Imogen echoed, rolling her eyes.

The witch took her hand in hers, forcing her to meet her brown eyes, "I didn't mean for this to happen. A baby … that takes planning, preparation … had I known this would happen-"

"-you never would've slept with me?" Imogen finished for her with a humorless smile, "It takes two, Constance. I wanted you, and you wanted me …" she looked down at the witch's hands covering hers, and she raised her other hand to cover her pale skin, running her thumb in small comforting circles. It felt as if no time had passed …

"Truth is, it's my fault … I should've left him instead of cheated on him … but I couldn't trust you, you know." She shrugged, looking back up into her eyes, "I couldn't count on you to stick around. We were never really close to begin with. I always thought I was just some … cheap thrill …"

Constance was close to crying now, and she neared her, raising her hand to cup her cheek, "You were _not_, Imogen … I …" she shook her head slightly, glancing down briefly, "I'm sorry that I made you feel that way … I just didn't want to ruin things." She let out a humorless laugh, "I know that seems ridiculous, considering our affair but … I felt you were just working through your problems, and any help that I could offer, I did …" her voice quieted as she said this. She blushed heatedly and looked away.

Imogen smiled vaguely, and brought her finger up under the witch's chin, causing her to meet her gaze again, her eyes full of anticipation along with her tears. The non-witch took a chance and brushed her lips upon hers, her smile widening against her mouth as she felt that old familiar spark, and her heart seemed to swell at such an intimate gesture.

But she had to make it brief. She didn't want to rush things. Not now. Not under the circumstances …

She felt Constance kiss her back just before she pulled away, and the witch appeared somewhat hurt and confused. Imogen met this with a reassuring smile, and it seemed to calm her thoughts, for now.

"Would you like to meet her?"

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**(A/N)**- another evil cliffie, I know! ;p REVIEWS!


	4. Guilt

**(A/N)** - I should be studying! This took too many rewrites but I've finally settled on this ... perhaps because it's almost 2am. Forgive me for mistakes, my keyboard has been acting up. Updates should be more frequent once I get my stupid sculpture done with - been sanding it all day and want to chuck it out a window, ugh. Thanks for all the reviews guys, seriously, it makes my day - keep it up! Enjoy! :)

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**- Guilt -**

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"She's _here_?"

"Of course. She's waiting for me in the courtyard … Constance?"

The witch shook her head slightly, eyes full of regret "I can't."

"You don't have to tell her who you are, you can just –"

"Imogen …" she sighed, shaking her head more visibly now, "I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Aren't you going to tell me why?"

The witch fell silent, eyes focused on her shoes as she stood there, wringing her hands in her anxiety.

"She's supposed to start school this year, but I decided to hold her back."

Constance's brow furrowed, and she met the non-witch's eyes, "Why?"

"She can perform magick, of course," Imogen replied in a humorless laugh, "I mean how did you think I found out she was a witch?"

Constance's mind began to race, her eyes flickering nervously about but she said nothing.

"I was looking into schools for young witches, younger than what they have at Cackle's anyway … turns out there aren't any. Are they just secluded, or …"

"There aren't any," Constance replied in a murmur, absentmindedly as she wrung her hands, breathing coming in short.

"Constance?" Imogen pressed, taking hold of her hands, causing the witch's movements to cease, her brown eyes locking with the blonde's green irises, "What's wrong?"

Constance gripped her tanned hands comfortingly.

"You'll have to home-school."

"What?" Imogen scoffed, pulling out of her grasp.

"Imogen, _trust_ me." Constance insisted, "The only school out there who will take her is Witch Training College, and _believe me_, you don't want to send her there."

The name rang a bell in Imogen's memory, of Mistress Broomhead's inspection, the first confession they'd gotten out of Constance in regards to the old witch. Constance's old school. Hecketty's old stomping grounds. She could remember the look of fear in Constance's eyes when she spoke of her, what little she did speak of her, and the same look was currently on the face of the slightly older, short haired witch that stood before her.

Imogen's fingers reached for her former lover, carefully, cautiously, reaching up to run her fingers through her cropped hair. The witch trembled at the touch but she allowed it, her eyes involuntarily welling up with tears once more.

"She did this."

Constance closed her eyes at Imogen's words. The blonde cupped her cheek, brushing away a tear that had rolled down her face.

"I can't do this alone, Constance."

"Sure you can."

"I don't want to do this alone."

Constance opened up her eyes, watching the younger woman.

"Grace has been –"

"_Grace_ …" Constance breathed, testing her daughter's name on her lips for the first time.

Imogen realized this, and it was her turn to feel guilty, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you …"

"You couldn't have," Constance pointed out, "I didn't stick around to find out, remember?"

Imogen smiled grimly, looking down, "Grace has been asking about you. I mean, she's been asking who her father is, and I didn't know how to explain …"

"How does Serge feel about that?" Constance asked, trying to hide her disgust at the mere thought of him but she failed miserably.

"Serge was never in the picture," Imogen explained, "I got a paternity test, it was inconclusive …"

"You shouldn't have …"

"Well I wasn't about to let him raise a kid that wasn't his," Imogen explained in annoyance, "I knew it all along as well, that she was yours. How could I not?"

Constance looked away, riddled with guilt.

"Are you going to meet her?"

Constance shook her head once more, resolutely, biting the inside of her mouth to quell the tears.

Imogen sighed, "Fine."

"Imogen …" Constance called as the non-witch opened the stock room door and began to storm out of the classroom.

Imogen stopped in her tracks reluctantly, and looked over at her.

Constance's lips trembled as she struggled to form the right words, but then she gave up with a small sigh.

"I'll walk you out."

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**(A/N)-** we'll meet Grace in the next chapter ;p reviews please! I got a quiz Tuesday and my project is due Wednesday and I'll be doing nothing but crying, studying, and sanding until then, so more than ever your reviews would really mean a lot to me! :)


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